


ABCDEF Drabble Challenge

by Galahard



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: A is for Adidas, ABCDE writing prompt drabbles, M/M, Standalone drabbles, may have angst or fluff or something else entirely, pairings too, rating and tags may change as more drabbles are written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:36:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galahard/pseuds/Galahard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the tumblr prompt drabbles starting with A is for Adidas. Mine are going to be a mixture of angst, fluff, and probably some crack for good measure, Russian Roulette style so you just don't know what you're going to get.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Adidas

**Author's Note:**

> Back from vacation and the con, which was exhausting! I'm going to try to get back into the swing of things (and write my Secret Santa thing) so for now I plan on just answering these prompts~

The world had fallen into chaos, and he'd missed it.

All of it apparently, not that he really minded. Waking up had simply meant that he'd found himself in a two person hospital room currently serving three people, the hospital so flooded with patients (and severely understaffed as a good portion of their staff was currently a patient) that they'd had to double up on rooms.

According to the staff this was being allowed as nearly every other hospital was in the same situation, so no one could be transferred.

So he fit in, the man with the odd accent that couldn't remember anything from before he woke up, with a head wound that was just shy of killing him or turning him into a vegetable. Because that was the norm now. People with inexplicable wounds that no one questioned all that closely.

It was boring. There was a constant, lingering antsy feeling deep in his bones, the desire to get up. To do something. His fingers twitched in those moments, beating a staccato'd rhythm against the hospital sheets, once crisp but now needing changed but not enough people to do the work.

At least those movements were on purpose. The tremors that plagued his hands, that made his writing illegible even to him, were much more frustrating.

"And how are you today, Mr. Johnson?" The words sounded cheerfully as he turned to look at his nurse, watching as she checked on the patient next to him and listening to the comforting babble as he pressed the button to raise his bed to a sitting position. For a moment he stared at the floor, zoning out until she took a step closer, her shoes coming into view. 

There was something about the stripes, black on white, that found his eyes trailing up, lingering on the little symbol of the brand before checking for wings, and with a sharp inhale the memories started to funnel back in.

Adidas. God awful clothing choices. Untying a young man from the train tracks, fingers brushing over the jacket cuffs. The young man in his home, in his robe. Harsh, angry words, hurt blooming in his eyes. The decision that he'd made in the plane, knowing he had to get back and fix everything. Make it right. 

Eggsy.

His realization must have shown on his face, or perhaps it was the jump on the heart monitor because the next thing he knew the nurse was speaking to him in soothing tones, a gentle hand guiding him back against the bed. "Mr. Doe, I'm going to need to ask you to calm down.

Hart. It's Harry Hart, and nothing is okay. I need to go home immediately, my people will take care of me. Just get me on the first plane to London.

Noise filled the air but it wasn't even close to the words he was trying to say, his throat flexing ineffectively, his jaw unable to move appropriately to form the correct syllables. He watched another nurse appear, watched them push a syringe and empty something into his IV, their nonsense words meant to soothe as he willed his limbs to work for him, to put him back in control of his own body. 

"Everything is going to be okay," the nurse promised, and his world began to fade into darkness once more.


	2. B is for Booze

"Whoever made up this soulmate shit was a wanker."

He rarely allowed himself to get absolutely smashed, disliking when he didn't have control of himself completely, but tonight he was well on his way to oblivion. The bartender just gave an agreeable nod, working on his tip no doubt, and Harry rambled on, not really able to hold the words in anymore.

"I mean, fuck, soulmates seem like a great thing and all but do they have to be announced like they are?"

It wasn't like yet another of his reconnaissance missions had been completely disrupted by one of the heinous proclamations. Oh wait. It had. He tapped his fingers on the counter and miraculously another whisky slid into place before him.

"What fucked up person decided that a bolt of light should literally come out of the sky to bathe the soulmates in it, have everything else go quiet except for a chorus of caterwauling that never seems to end, and then send down a cupid to personally congratulate them? And if it's got to be a cupid could they find anything other than the creeps they manage to find to shove in a nappy and wings? And of course they bring with them streamers and confetti and don't leave anyone to clean it up. What will they think of next, a rain of glitter?"

Distress was flooding through him at the thought, the absolutely atrocious right of passage people actually had to go through, and most people had been brainwashed to think of it fondly.

Thank fuck he'd never had to deal with that nonsense.

Still, he wasn't nearly drunk enough to deal with the months of work that had been wasted just because two people had glanced up at precisely the wrong moment and caught eyes. 

He took a long swallow from his glass, feeling the familiar warmth slide down his throat and into his belly, and mostly debating if he should just knock back the rest of the glass in one swallow or make it last at least a couple more minutes.

"Sorry mate, my shift is up. The kid's here, he'll take care of you. Can I get you another before I leave?"

Harry barely glanced up, and shook his head, digging around for his wallet to slip the bartender a tip before he left, and then set to work studying his glass.

It was emptied only moments later, and he motioned for the bartender, a young man from the looks of it.

"Patrick said you was drinking the good stuff. It kicked in yet?"

He shook his head, pushing the glass forward. "You probably get a lot of blokes in here drinking about soulmate shit," he pointed out, words bitter and angry, and he glanced up, waiting to see what the boy's reaction would be. Fuck, he probably had a soulmate and would just think he was being ridiculous.

"I don't give a shit about that stuff," he said with a shrug, and that would have been just fine if a blue tinged light hadn't filled the pub, an all too familiar chorus starting up.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Harry muttered, and surprisingly enough his words could actually be heard. "Of course someone would find their soulmate while I'm drinking to forget that it's even a thing."

Then it began to register. He could hear himself talk. Audibly. With a horrifying old man floating down strumming on a bow shaped heart.

"Let it be known," a voice boomed out of him, and it grated on every single one of Harry's nerves, "that on this day Harold Beethoven Hart and Gary Egbert Unwin have found each other at long last. May their souls be entwined for eternity, all their days be happy, and all their nights scarring to their neighbors."

His voice dropped out of a boom, and the man looked at them. "Yadda yadda yadda, so on and so forth. Normally I'd just get back up to HQ but I thought I'd let you know that upper management loved your suggestion so you're the first we're going to implement it on! Enjoy!"

There was no time to react as the cupid waved a flabby arm around, and from out of beam of light came the expected streamers and confetti, mixed with a rain of glitter. He was still coughing from a piece of confetti caught in his throat when the cupid and light vanished, the cursed music finally fading away, and when he looked up it was to see an expression mirroring his own.

One of horror, fear, and sparkles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't guessed...this is definitely a crack chapter. Blame secondarysushicorps for this, she was trying really hard to get me to write crack.


	3. C is for Cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cigarettes just...didn't jive with me so I didn't know what to do QQ I finally just decided to write SOMETHING so I could continue on.

It was supposed to be a simple thing. Harry had sent him a text asking him to pick up smokes on his way back and he'd sent back that he would, taking an easy detour into a shop.

And then he had faltered.

It had been a while since he'd bought any for himself, cigarettes not really his vice, and honestly? He couldn't picture Harry with any. He'd seen him take one out of a pack while they were on a reconnaissance mission, smoking infrequently, but for the life of him he couldn't think of what the package looked like. Looking around the rows of options none of them stood out, a few from advertisements maybe but nothing making any sort of personal connection.

Still, these were for Harry. Which meant that this was something about Harry he should probably know, just like how he knew how he preferred his tea or his coffee.

It was like he knew nothing about him at all.

He wandered the shop until the owner started giving him increasingly suspicious looks, a sign that he thought he was up to no good, and finally he felt himself giving in, pulling out his phone and tapping out a quick message.

-What brand?

-What?

-I'm at the store but I don't know what brand you smoke?

-I meant Smokes as in the new restaurant by the house. You said you wanted to try it? I've called in our order, it should be ready.

He stared at the phone, a flush creeping up the back of his neck before he pocketed it and strode out of the shop, already imagining the fondly exasperated look on Harry's face when he got home.


	4. D is for Destruction

A whine ripped through his throat and he couldn't even care what he sounded like anymore. He was oversensitive and spent, a sweating heap of flesh with no energy or coordination left as he stared up at Harry, watching him fall apart above him, capturing the moment of pleasure before his eyes slid closed to preserve it.

It felt like hours before he could must the energy to speak, and when he did it wasn't anything planned.

"You fucking destroyed me with your dick." His eyes finally focusing in on Harry's face, before honing in on a lock of his hair falling into his eyes, disheveled and out of a place.

Harry shook his head, leaning in for a lazy, open-mouthed kiss as he pulled out, their breath and tongues tangling for a long moment before Harry broke it off. "I know what you're doing."

"Oh?" Eggsy settled back into the pillow as much as he could, eyes drifting half shut.

"You're trying to make me do all the work again. Now you're going to act like you're too tired to clean up so I'll have to go get a washcloth to clean you up."

"Would you? Warm please." He couldn't resist the smile that accompanied the words, almost feeling Harry roll his eyes as he sat back.

"It's a good thing I love you, you're bloody demanding."

The older man was halfway to the wc when his steps faltered, Eggsy staring after him as he turned, their eyes meeting. It was a relief that Harry's eyes were as wide as his own seemed to be, a relief to realize that Harry had realized the same thing that he had.

Then Harry straightened up minutely, just enough to prove that his posture hadn't been perfect a second before. "It doesn't have to change anything," he remarked, his voice the same as when he asked for the weather. "I won't pressure you or anything." 

"The fucking you talking about?" He sat up, giving Harry a look for a moment before standing and crossing over to him. There was nothing he could say that he could figure out the words for, so instead he just pulled Harry into a kiss, letting it continue until they were both panting. "I love you too, you bloody wanker."

There were several more minutes of kissing and touching, hands sliding along familiar planes of flesh but with new purpose now, until finally Harry pulled back.

"I knew you were faking how exhausted you were to make me do all the work. Now that you're up why don't you go ahead and get yourself cleaned up."

"Fucker!" He tried to sound angry but he couldn't quite manage it, not now, not with Harry looking at him like he'd hung the moon in the sky. Instead he took several steps toward the wc before glancing back over his shoulder. "Ain't you coming? We might as well test to see if your shower really is too small for two."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random oddly placed cry for help but does anyone have experience submitting things for timed challenges such as the Hartwin Secret Santa? Do you just wait and submit on the due date or does Ao3 do it for you...first time trying one of those things XD


	5. E is for Envy

His arm extended, finger caressing the trigger without tightening, waiting until the man stepped into his range to before squeezing gently. The bodyguard went down, a graceless heap that jerked from the remnants of the electrical shock that Merlin's special ammunition provided. Non-lethal, but ensuring there wouldn't be a quick recovery. Not quick enough to interfere.

"On your left," Harry murmured into the headset, watching the view from the glasses pan over, taking in the temporarily empty hallway. "Two approaching, but they're slowing down. Easy does it."

All he could actually see from this view was what Galahad did. His immediate surroundings, occasionally his arms and hands drifting into view. Of course there were the thermal cameras of the building on another screen, and a third screen gave feed from the security feeds they'd redirected to their own servers. It was one thing to just destroy their footage, but it made much more sense to just put the enemy tech to work for them.

It was that screen he was tempted to watch. Galahad would do just fine without him whispering in his ear constantly, he thought quickly on his feet and he wasn't a complete idiot. Not that Harry would ever not do his job, or actually risk the boy to give into the temptation. Not when the mission was live. Later he would pour over the footage on his own time, watching the predatory stalk in his movements, an aura about his person that whispered that he was in complete control.

He knew that look. He'd worn it well.

Later he'd be able to watch as Eggsy crouched down, waiting for the pair to round the corner. It was a simple fact that those without advanced training tended to sweep from side to side at roughly eye level first, so putting himself outside of a normal height range would give him a split second edge.

A split second meant they'd never have a chance.

"They're separating, one is moving forward, the other one holding back. Hold your fire if you can until you have visuals on them both, and take out the second one to try to keep them from escaping.

There was no sound of acknowledgement, but the glasses bobbed up and down for a moment, a silent affirmation.

Harry checked the thermal readings once more and settled back in his chair to watch. Even through the screen he was getting of a sense of excitement, the faint build up of apprehension that only grew when the first one slowly rounded the corner.

It was a woman, wearing a decent level of padding which meant it would be slightly more difficult to get an electrical shock to her. There was a long moment as she started down the hall, and after she cleared a certain point her companion followed. He was large, musclebound and proud of it considering the ridiculous tight and thin shirt he had on, the dark fabric stretched so much in places that it was almost sheer. This would be fun.

There was the quick bark of gunfire, two jolts of noise from the gun, and both bullets found their mark in the man. It made sense, as muscular as he was it was doubtful one of the shocks, designed for a small to average person, probably wouldn't cut it. Two wasn't precisely safe, but it had been tested, and the man went down easily enough.

Which left the woman, who has moving quickly, despite all the gear that would slow some down. He forced himself to check the thermals then allowed himself to focus on the stolen feed, watching Galahad sprint across part of the room, sliding to get under a bench to avoid gunfire from the enemy. Without bothering to take a second to recover he popped up from the other side of the bench, firing with one hand while his other reached back to unholster his actual gun, his movements still sure and smooth.

By now the woman expected him to try to aim at her extremities, avoiding her core, and she was using that to her advantage to dodge. It meant she wasn't expecting the gun leveled at her torso, the report of the gun as a bullet lodged itself into her vest, the impact knocking her back. She was still standing, held up by the wall behind her before she slid down, another unconscious person on his road to information.

"Very well done, Galahad," Harry murmured into his earpiece, but despite the enthusiasm in his boy's voice, a cheerful and victorious response as he started toward where the servers were stored, he couldn't quite bring himself to smile. 

No, deep down there was the all too familiar ache, a dark curl of jealousy twisting in the pit of his stomach, the voice whispering to him that this Galahad was a fake, that he should be the one out there, that he could have done it and saved a minute of time in the process.

It was a feeling he fought to crush down even as he guided Galahad through the rest of his mission. A feeling to keep at bay while he walked him through his exit. A feeling that haunted him as he stood up, reaching down to adjust the braces on his legs before reaching for his crutches so he could go meet Eggsy in person, a smile pasted on his face, ready to tell him how good of a job he'd done.


End file.
